


True Love Waits

by longleggedgit



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longleggedgit/pseuds/longleggedgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuuta isn't great at romance. Mizuki isn't great at chastity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Love Waits

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://strudy-exchange.livejournal.com/profile)[**strudy_exchange**](http://strudy-exchange.livejournal.com/) in 2007. Thanks to my betas, [](http://anjenue.livejournal.com/profile)[**anjenue**](http://anjenue.livejournal.com/) and [](http://cmere.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cmere.livejournal.com/)**cmere**. ♥

Yuuta isn’t particularly good at elaborate romantic gestures, which is, as far as Mizuki is concerned, just short of unacceptable. It took long enough just to make Yuuta realize that not only did Mizuki want him, but he wanted Mizuki back - now that they’ve come that far, Mizuki is most certainly not going to be the one doing all the hard work.

"Yuuta," Mizuki says primly. To Yuuta’s credit, he looks up from his video game.

"You don't even know what day it is, do you." Mizuki folds his arms in front of his chest and waits, tight-lipped, for Yuuta to answer.

"Thursday?" Yuuta tries. Mizuki's eyes narrow dangerously, and Yuuta sets down the controller, visibly dredging the recesses of his memory. "It can't be our anniversary," he says, a hint of desperation in his tone. "Our anniversary was last week!"

Mizuki kicks the Wee-Sixty or whatever the stupid machine is called and Yuuta lets out a startled "Hey!" as it shuts off, scrambling up from the floor incredulously.

"It's the anniversary of our first kiss," Mizuki snaps before Yuuta has time to get angry. Yuuta has absolutely no right to be angry about anything, seeing as he's the one who forgot to celebrate their first kiss anniversary, and hardly a week _after_ he had tried to insist it was silly to celebrate one month's worth of dating.

"Of our –" Yuuta starts and falters, staring at Mizuki like _he's_ the one being unreasonable. "You can't be serious," Yuuta groans. "Normal people don't celebrate stuff like that, Mizuki."

"Oh?" Mizuki can feel the anger boiling up inside him and maybe it's somewhat detectable on the outside too, because Yuuta is already starting to flinch. "Fine," Mizuki says, turning on his heel and stalking toward the door. "I guess _normal_ people can just enjoy being _single_ then."

Mizuki hears Yuuta's soft curse and he almost scolds him for it, but then he remembers they're not dating anymore and he could therefore care less about what Yuuta chooses to do or say. His hand is already on the doorknob when Yuuta comes up from behind and grabs his wrist, effectively tugging him to a halt.

"Mizuki," he says, "stop. This is the second time you've tried to dump me this week."

"You called my hair _girly_ ," Mizuki reminds him, still rife with indignation at the memory.

"Yeah, I know." Yuuta sighs and forcibly turns Mizuki around, watching him intently even though Mizuki refuses to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, all right? About the hair, _and_ about the anniversary."

Mizuki makes a skeptical noise and continues to stare at the ceiling, and Yuuta lets go of his shoulders so he can throw his hands up in exasperation.

"Okay, I give up," he says. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do."

"You're _supposed_ to _remember_!"

Point well made, Mizuki whips around and disappears through the door, slamming it behind him. Ishikawa from down the hall pops out to give him a funny look, but Mizuki has information about what Ishikawa is _really_ doing when he escapes to the bathroom every day during fourth period and they both know it, so after a brief stare-down Ishikawa bows his head in defeat and ducks back into his room.

"Honestly." Mizuki runs a hand through his hair and then frowns, glancing at his wristwatch. It's been forty seconds and Yuuta still hasn't come out after him, which is much longer than it generally takes. He crosses his arms and begins to tap his foot.

It isn’t until two minutes have passed that Mizuki stops to consider the possibility of Yuuta not coming out after him.

“That is _it_ ,” Mizuki says, tilting his chin sharply and storming off in the direction of his room. Fine. If Yuuta wants to play it that way, Mizuki is more than willing to oblige.

As it turns out, Yuuta does follow a few minutes later, but Mizuki refuses to open the door.

~

Health class has always been a complete waste of time, which is why Mizuki doesn’t generally feel guilty about ignoring the sister’s lecture to organize his data or work out new tennis exercises. However, today he’s still too annoyed with Yuuta to do either, so he resigns himself to an hour of staring blankly at the blackboard, and is somewhat startled when the sister actually says something to snap him to attention.

“Abstinence,” Sister Nakamura says in an uncharacteristically firm voice, “is the most important subject that will ever be covered in the course of your education.”

A few of the students look at each other with raised eyebrows, some muttering, some snickering.

“Go ahead and laugh if you want,” Nakamura says shrilly, “but you’re all reaching the age where girls are beginning to appeal to you, and as such, you need to be informed.”

 _Not all_ , Mizuki thinks with a sigh. He rolls his eyes and tries to return to daydreaming, but for some reason Nakamura keeps drawing him back to earth.

“A girl’s chastity is her most prized possession,” she continues. “A girl will know right away when a boy only wants one thing, and there is only one way for a boy to prove to her that he truly loves and values her.”

Mizuki sits up straighter in his chair, leaning forward to better hear over the waves of laughter rippling across the classroom.

“Excuse me,” Mizuki says, raising a hand into the air. Sister Nakamura looks at him rather as if he’s some strange breed of talking fish, but he goes on undeterred. “What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean,” Nakamura says, smoothing out the front of her habit stiffly, “is that the only way a girl can know for certain if she has found true love is if her partner respects her choice to take a chastity pledge.”

The ripples of laughter have bloomed into full-out guffaws at this point, but Mizuki pays them no mind, twirling his hair around his finger thoughtfully.

“What,” he says after waiting for relative silence to fall, “does a chastity pledge entail, exactly?”

~

When the gentle knock comes on his door that night, Mizuki isn’t surprised to hear Yuuta’s voice follow it, and he calls “Come in” somewhat distractedly.

“Um,” Yuuta says, when Mizuki very pointedly does not look up from the book on his lap. “Hi.”

“Hello, Yuuta-kun.” Mizuki practically purrs. He has a hard time fighting back a smirk when he sees Yuuta blanch out the corner of his eye.

“Are you –” Yuuta starts, then stops and licks his lips. “Are you still mad?”

Mizuki finally looks up from his book, and Yuuta has that expression on his face when he’s dejected but too stubborn to admit just how much. It’s almost enough to get Mizuki to give in, to forget this whole idea, but - _No._ No, Sister Nakamura had said – things like this take discipline.

“Of course not.” Mizuki pats the place next to him on the bed and scoots over, trying not to be too offended by Yuuta’s obvious suspicion.

“You’re . . . sure?” Yuuta takes a seat beside him, a little reluctantly.

“Yes,” Mizuki says, rolling his eyes. He snaps the book in his lap shut and faces Yuuta completely, noting that Yuuta has already started to blush, which almost always happens immediately prior to kissing.

 _Discipline_ , Mizuki reminds himself, even as Yuuta lifts a hand to brush Mizuki’s hair from his face.

“Yuuta-kun,” Mizuki says, catching Yuuta’s hand in midair. “I’m sorry, but we can’t do this anymore.”

Yuuta pulls his hand away, stunned, before his face twists up in anger. “Dammit, Mizuki, I thought you were going to _stop_ with this breaking up crap already –”

“That’s not what I mean,” Mizuki says quickly, and Yuuta falls silent. “I mean,” he continues, careful with his words, “this. Our . . . physical relationship.”

“What?” Yuuta just seems bewildered now. “What do you mean? We hardly even have a –”

“Yuuta,” Mizuki interrupts, “I have taken a chastity pledge and I’d really appreciate it if you would respect my decision and not fight me about it.”

“Your – you –” Yuuta’s face is getting progressively redder, although whether in anger or embarrassment, Mizuki can’t tell. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m quite serious,” Mizuki says, doing his best to make his voice as stern as Nakamura’s. “It’s no joking matter. I simply feel our relationship will be more meaningful if we wait until marriage to –”

“ _Marriage?_ ” Yuuta sputters incoherently for a few seconds and Mizuki waits patiently, hands folded in his lap. “Mizuki, we’re both boys, even if – it’s not like - we can’t even get married!”

Mizuki waves a dismissive hand. “A commitment ceremony, then. Those details are trivial. At any rate, we’re far too young –”

“I agree,” Yuuta snaps, running a hand through his hair.

“- And there are still innumerable stages of our relationship we have yet to explore.” Mizuki beams and rests a hand on Yuuta’s thigh, which causes him to look down, dumbfounded. “I hope you understand,” Mizuki adds sweetly.

“Not really,” Yuuta grumbles, but he doesn’t put a lot of heart into it. “Anyway, I don’t think chastity has to be applied to _kissing._ ”

Mizuki opens his mouth to retort, then closes it, thinking back on health class. In truth, Sister Nakamura hadn’t said a great deal about kissing specifically, but she had mentioned that any use of tongues whatsoever could lead to other, significantly less innocent activities. The kind that are definitely _not_ permitted under a chastity pledge.

“We can kiss,” Mizuki decides slowly. “But no tongue.”

Yuuta groans, but he seems to have conceded defeat for the time being. Mizuki hums approvingly and leans forward to plant a very brief kiss on Yuuta’s lips. When he pulls back, Yuuta is still watching him with a sullen pout.

“It’s getting late,” Mizuki says. “You might want to get to bed, Yuuta-kun.”

“Right.” Yuuta heaves an extremely weary sigh and stands up. “Well. Good night then.”

“Good night.”

Yuuta leaves without another word and Mizuki smirks, twirling a finger through his hair. _This is going so well already._

~

As it turns out, chastity is a little bit harder than Mizuki had anticipated.

First of all, rather than making an attempt to be more romantic, Yuuta is just getting crabbier with each passing day of austere kisses and sitting at least a foot apart when they do their homework together. (To be honest, Mizuki isn’t doing much better.) Perhaps even more worrisome, however, is the fact that with the chastity pledge in place, Mizuki is finding himself even more inclined toward pulling Yuuta down on top of him and tearing his clothes off than he’s ever been before. Having self-control is beginning to seem less and less worthwhile. Sister Nakamura had promised roses and love poetry and wedding ceremonies. Thus far, the only thing chastity has succeeded in getting Mizuki is uncomfortably tight trousers.

“Oi! Mizuki!”

Mizuki covertly shifts his notebook a little lower and turns around, scowling when he sees Akazawa rushing up behind him.

“Where are you going?” Akazawa asks, crossing his arms and lifting an eyebrow.

“What do you mean, ‘Where am I going?’” Mizuki sniffs.

Akazawa looks at him as if he’s lost his mind. “Tennis practice!” he says. “The courts are that way!”

Mizuki gazes disinterestedly in the direction Akazawa is pointing, which is indeed completely opposite from the direction Mizuki is headed. Having spent the last fifteen minutes crouched behind a bush watching Yuuta do his warm-up exercises, Mizuki is well aware of this fact.

“I have some rather important things to get done today, Akazawa, and I was really just hoping to –”

“Ha ha,” Akazawa says flatly. “Come on, Yuuta needs work on his follow-through.”

Yuuta does need work on his follow-through, Mizuki has to admit – in truth, he needs work on just about everything. His form and concentration today are terrible.

“You’re doing this worse than when you were a first-year,” Mizuki snaps, more than a little vexed that even when Yuuta is performing poorly, the tense and pull of his muscles as he swings still manages to look so good.

Yuuta screws up his face and looks about ready to snap back, but only responds with a grated, “Sorry.” He lowers his racket and lifts an arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead, revealing a flash of abdomen and the slightly uneven line of his boxers sticking out above his shorts. Mizuki crosses his legs.

“Why don’t you show me your form for Rising Shot,” he suggests. It seems a safe enough venture. Yuuta has Rising Shot down perfectly – Mizuki can watch him run a couple repetitions, tell him it all looks fine and then excuse himself to his bedroom for the rest of the evening.

Or so he was expecting. Except somehow, Yuuta is managing to even make a mess of his signature move.

“What are you doing?” Mizuki gets up from his seat on the bench, far too outraged by Yuuta’s miserable performance to sit still. “Have you completely forgotten everything I taught you?”

He’s moving on instinct when he comes up behind Yuuta to adjust his grip, but the moment his chest presses flat against Yuuta’s back he freezes, suddenly aware of why he was dictating from the bench in the first place. Yuuta turns his head to look over his shoulder and their faces are close enough that Mizuki can feel his breath on his skin.

“Mizuki. . . .” Yuuta licks his lips and Mizuki involuntarily tightens his grasp on his wrist, apparently a little too much. The tennis racket clatters to the ground and Mizuki steps back at the same time Yuuta turns around and steps forward.

“I have things to do,” Mizuki says in a rush. He dashes back to the bench, picks up his notebook, and takes off at a brisk stroll toward the dormitories.

“Mizuki!” Yuuta calls after him, and Mizuki comes to a reluctant halt.

“Yes?” he says weakly. He refuses to turn around.

There’s a short hesitation, then, “Are we still studying tonight?”

Mizuki’s shoulders tense up, but no amount of self-restraint can keep him from saying “Yes” before he breaks into a jog.

It isn’t until he’s at the entrance to the dormitories that Mizuki dares look back at the tennis courts, and he immediately regrets doing so. Yuuta is standing in the exact same place he was when Mizuki left, and while Mizuki can’t quite tell where his gaze is focused, he has a pretty good idea.

 _Dammit_ , Mizuki thinks with a sigh, and he pulls open the door and starts his way upstairs. Now he’s going to have to clean his room.

~

“Mizuki-kun?”

Mizuki blinks himself out of a daze and tries to regain his composure, pretending not to notice the way Yuuta is looking at him. “Yes?” he says shortly.

“I’m just having trouble with this problem . . .” Yuuta trails off, gesturing toward his math book, and Mizuki shifts a little so he can look on with him.

“Radicals? Let’s see.”

The textbook is between them on the bed, but the second Yuuta bends close enough that his forehead brushes against Mizuki’s, it feels like the air has gotten too thick to breathe and the room too small. Mizuki’s breath catches but he doesn’t look up, mainly because he knows Yuuta will be looking back.

“Radicals,” he says again in a rush. “It’s a positive integer, so the radical has to be a product of its. . . .” Mizuki goes quiet when Yuuta’s hand brushes against the side of his neck, pretending to be distracted by nothing more than an irritable hangnail.

“Yuuta,” Mizuki says, intending for it to be a warning. It doesn’t sound very convincing.

“Mizuki.” The math book falls off the side of the bed and just as suddenly Yuuta is there, his lips are on Mizuki’s mouth and his body is pressing Mizuki’s down against the mattress and Mizuki is doing absolutely nothing to stop him.

“ _Jesus,_ ” Yuuta groans, pausing between heated kisses along the side of Mizuki’s neck. “Do you have _any_ idea, Mizuki. . . .”

If he were being perfectly honest, Mizuki might answer that Indeed, he has a very good idea, but now is not the time or place for confessions. “Shut up,” he says flatly, just before pulling Yuuta into a slow, wet kiss, and Yuuta, in a fit of common sense, does not argue.

They’re just getting to the best part of kissing – meaning the part where Yuuta gets so carried away by Mizuki’s clearly masterful technique that he starts making pathetic little noises and tangling his hands in Mizuki’s hair and absolutely melting under his touch – when Mizuki notices something a little different from normal. Usually their kissing is done sitting upright, but with Yuuta on top of him and their hips lined up, Mizuki can feel everything – _everything_ – that’s going on below the belt.

“Oh God,” Mizuki hisses, doing some very quick thinking. What they’re doing feels good. It feels very, very good. But what they’re doing is almost certainly going down the path of very unchaste activity, and Sister Nakamura’s words are still ringing in Mizuki’s ears: _Any girl who gives up her innocence to a boy is only proving how little she truly cares for him._

It is at this very moment that Yuuta sees fit to grind his hips down against Mizuki’s, _hard_ , and Mizuki practically swallows his own tongue before shoving Yuuta away and struggling out from underneath him.

“Stop,” Mizuki says sharply. Yuuta cringes like a dog that’s been slapped.

“But I thought –” Yuuta begins.

“You were wrong, then,” Mizuki says through clenched teeth. Yuuta looks hurt. His cheeks are red and his lips are wet and swollen and his chest is rising and falling with quick breaths and oh God, this train of thought is definitely _not_ helping. Mizuki smoothes out the pleats in his trousers and flips his hair away from his face. “I think you should go for now, Yuuta-kun.”

Yuuta stares, stunned, for a handful of seconds, long enough that Mizuki is about to bite his lip and take it all back until Yuuta spits out, “ _Fine._ ” He stands up and strides toward the door, stopping just before he opens it to say over his shoulder, “I’m beginning to think Aniki is right. Maybe you’re _not_ worth the trouble.”

Mizuki’s mouth falls open at the same time Yuuta slams the door behind him, and he can only sit in shock, eyes fixed on the place where Yuuta used to be. This isn’t right at all. The way Sister Nakamura told it, he and Yuuta should be picking out curtains together by now, not – not _this_.

“Enough,” Mizuki murmurs, leaping up from his bed and digging his weekly planner out from his desk. He opens it up to the current date and, using his brightest violet pen, savagely scribbles over the words: _Chastity, Day Three._

 _Forget Nakamura_ , Mizuki decides, and he sets to work formulating a new course of action. He should have known better than to trust anyone’s plans other than his own.

~

Thursdays are busy days in Yuuta’s schedule, Mizuki knows, so he waits until Friday morning to put his plan into effect. Approximately 9:15 Friday morning, when Yuuta gets out of his history class and has a free hour before math. In fact, it’s not until 9:17 that Yuuta emerges from his classroom, in discussion about something with Yanagisawa and therefore momentarily distracted from noticing Mizuki standing in wait. Yanagisawa sees him first, and Yuuta, following his gaze, pales a little.

“Mizuki . . .” Yuuta says, and Yanagisawa rolls his eyes, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like _“Lover’s quarrel, dane”_ before stalking off.

“Yuuta-kun,” Mizuki says, betraying none of his emotions in his voice or expression. “Would you be so kind as to accompany me for a moment?”

Yuuta nods dumbly and Mizuki smiles, crooking a finger for Yuuta to follow him. They’re completely silent as Mizuki leads the way down a series of hallways to a rarely-used wing on the older side of the building, coming to an abrupt halt in front of a banged-up door to a utility closet.

“Listen, Mizuki,” Yuuta says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I wanted to –”

“Be quiet, Yuuta-kun.”

Yuuta looks up in mingled hurt and outrage and Mizuki takes a moment to smirk before opening the closet door, shoving Yuuta inside, and closing it behind the both of them.

The closet is pitch-dark and uncomfortably small, but Mizuki takes no notice, feeling for Yuuta’s body a scarce few centimeters away from his and then sliding his hands up his chest to loop around the back of his neck.

“Don’t yelp, Yuuta, it’s unbecoming,” Mizuki chastises, when Yuuta does just that as Mizuki presses their bodies flush together.

“What are you –” Yuuta stutters, even as his hands come to rest blindly around Mizuki’s waist.

“I think you know,” Mizuki says, and then he tugs Yuuta down into a kiss, a little off-center at first but finding its mark quickly enough.

Yuuta’s surprise is apparently nothing compared to his arousal, because it barely takes him two seconds before his tongue is in Mizuki’s mouth and his hands are on Mizuki’s hips and he’s backing Mizuki an admittedly negligible distance into the shelves behind him. The shelves bite into Mizuki’s back and he whimpers softly in protest, which Yuuta seems to misinterpret to mean _Grind your hips into me a little harder, please._

“ _Careful,_ ” Mizuki groans, but he has to admit the pain in his back is easier to ignore when Yuuta loosens his tie, undoes the top buttons of his shirt and starts sucking at his collarbone. He has to do something to reciprocate – it won’t do to let Yuuta have the upper hand, after all – so Mizuki tugs Yuuta’s shirt out of his pants and slips his cool hands along the hot skin just above his waistband, reveling in the quick intake of breath the touch elicits.

“Mizuki,” Yuuta says, voice shaky and weak, “are you sure?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Mizuki gasps, almost as annoyed as he is desperate.

Yuuta doesn’t waste any more time. Their eyes have already grown slightly more accustomed to the dark, so Mizuki is actually able to watch as Yuuta works the fly of his trousers in record timing, exhaling at the same time Yuuta does when he tugs down Mizuki’s underwear and pulls out his cock. It’s definitely different, having someone else’s hand stroking him like this, but different is by no means unwelcome. Mizuki lets out a little cry and wraps his arms back around Yuuta’s neck as Yuuta starts to pump him more quickly, not trusting himself to stand upright without support.

“Oh God,” Mizuki hisses, biting down on the closest thing, which happens to be Yuuta’s shoulder. Yuuta makes a little noise at the same time that Mizuki comes, coating Yuuta’s hand and both of their trousers in a rather unpleasant stickiness.

Mizuki is ready to pull out his handkerchief and immediately begin cleaning them both up, but something in the way Yuuta shifts his hips so he is basically humping Mizuki’s thigh tells him clean up is going to have to wait. He works a hand inside Yuuta’s underwear even before he’s unbuttoned his trousers with the other and wraps his fingers tight around the base of Yuuta’s cock, trying to get over thoughts of _This is so weird_ at least until Yuuta is finished. Fortunately, he doesn’t take any longer than Mizuki did, and he even gives fair warning, moaning a choked _“Hajime”_ just before his head snaps back and Mizuki finds himself even sticker than before.

“Hajime, hmm?” Mizuki leans back just enough to have room to cross his arms, but then thinks better of it – still sticky. Even so, he’s sure he can _feel_ Yuuta’s blush radiating off his cheeks.

“I –” Yuuta says, but he stops himself short when his voice cracks.

Mizuki chuckles and leans forward again, setting about the task of fixing Yuuta’s clothes for him. “That’s all right,” he purrs. “I suppose Hajime would be acceptable, in light of recent developments.”

Yuuta wisely declines to comment, and Mizuki at long last pulls out his handkerchief, wiping clean his hands and dabbing at the front of Yuuta’s trousers.

“We’ll have to go back to the dormitories to change,” he murmurs, doing up the buttons to Yuuta’s trousers again. He pauses when his fingers brush against something small and hard in the corner of Yuuta’s pocket – something he obviously missed before, rushed as they had been. “What’s this?”

“Um.” Mizuki feels Yuuta reach down into the pocket in question, enclosing whatever-it-is in a fist and shifting awkwardly on his feet. “Here.” He takes Mizuki’s hand and drops the object into his open palm, waiting for Mizuki to realize it is in fact a small necklace before he says anything more.

“I bought it after health class the other day,” Yuuta explains. “I kind of, um, figured – well, I think I get it now.” Mizuki still doesn’t speak, so Yuuta hurriedly continues, “It’s not like getting engaged or something. But I have one, too.” He tugs down his own collar, and while it’s too dark to really see much, Mizuki thinks he catches a glint of a thin chain around his neck.

“Yuuta.” Mizuki is too stunned to manage anything else, but if the kiss he presses to Mizuki’s forehead is anything to go by, Yuuta understands.

“I’ll help you.” Yuuta takes the necklace back from Mizuki and loops it around his neck, and Mizuki can’t help but privately admit, fingering the small cross resting just above his sternum, that that was very, very romantic.

“Let’s go,” Mizuki says, straightening his tie and flattening his hair. “I’m going to be late for health.”

Yuuta peeks a head out the closet door to make sure the coast is clear and then they both emerge, blinking at the sudden light.

“Uh,” Yuuta says, eyes going wide as he takes in the sight of Mizuki. “You know, you might just want to skip health today.” He points out an angry red mark on Mizuki’s collarbone, low enough that Mizuki can actually see it if he tilts his chin as far down as it will go. “I think Sister Nakamura might disapprove.”

Mizuki considers this for a moment, twisting his new necklace in place of twirling his bangs. “I have a better idea,” he says at last. He slips a hand into Yuuta’s and begins to tug him back the way they came, humming his contentment. “Why don’t you walk me to class.”

_end_  



End file.
